


To you who stands in no man's land

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Good Tom Riddle, Master of Death Harry Potter, Muggle Appreciation, PTSD, Reincarnation, Time Travel Fix-It, dubious adoption process, harry adopts tom, nature vs nurture theory, platonic tomarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-04-19 04:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14229615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After Voldemort’s defeat, Harry leads a normal life and dies a painless death surrounded by loved ones. He wakes up at the train station for the dead and finds that the infant creature under the bench is still there.He remembers being told not to pity it but Harry has always been a bit of an idiot with a hero complex.NOTE: Discontinued





	1. Prologue

 

_“Nothing is easier than to denounce the evildoer; nothing is more difficult than to understand him.”_

_[ **Fyodor Dostoyevsky** ](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3137322.Fyodor_Dostoyevsky) _

  _**~**_

 

 

He woke up from his final dream slowly.

The first thing he became aware of was that he was naked.

His bare skin felt soft to the touch. It was slightly cold. The aches in his body were no longer.

When he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings, he felt his lips curl up in bemusement. The train station hadn't changed much from last time.

“I died,” he said, feeling somewhat relieved at the realisation.

He tried to remember his last moments on Earth and vaguely recalled a collection of faces staring at him with love and worry. He made them promise him a quiet funeral, to bury him on the cliff next to the ocean, and to treat each other well. His children and grandchildren all called him a sap amongst other endearments. All in all, it was a happy memory. A happy parting.

Fog curled around his ankles as he took steps towards the train station entrance, guided by a strong pull that made him want to complete his journey immediately.

After walking for an indefinite amount of time, he finally reached the entrance, but, before he could enter the archway, he heard a sound - a faint whine, familiar like a whisper of a memory long forgotten.

A bench came into view and underneath it there was a bundle.

A morbid pull, stronger than the one he felt a moment before, called to him like a siren’s song, drew him to the side, off track.

He couldn’t possibly be here still, this was Harry’s death, but -

“Harry.”

Harry tore his eyes away from the pitiful infant and turned around quickly, heart leaping into his throat at the sight of a hooded figure who stood taller than Hagrid. Their cloak was darker than a void and barely skimmed the ground as they swept towards Harry in long striding steps. They held a cane in one hand and, in the other, held a small silver object that spun on its axis.

 _Death,_ Harry recognised immediately. He felt their presence many times during his life.

“Do you pity him still?” Death asked once they were within close range, their voice pleasant and curious, almost companionable.

Harry looked back at the infant creature, lips downturned, choosing to mull in his thoughts and doubts that plagued him for many years after the war. He stared at its flayed skin, tightly clenched fists, and struggling limbs. It was barely breathing. An unfortunate thing stuck in limbo for all these decades.

“No.”

“No?”

"No."

Harry tried to walk away from the infant but found himself struggling. He turned back.

“I’ve always wondered…” he breathed out, running an agitated hand through his hair.

“Yes?”

“If Tom were to be reborn, whether he would learn to love.”

“Shouldn’t you already know the answer?” Death asked. “Tom Riddle was incapable of love.”

 _I know,_ Harry wanted to say.

But.

But what if they were wrong?

Peace had given Harry many hours of contemplation.

“You could see for yourself,” Death said, interrupting his stream of thoughts. “Time travel is mere child’s play for the Master of Death. ”

“I’ve forgotten about that title.”

The infant whimpered again.

Death watched as Harry bent down and carefully lifted the infant into his arms.

The crying stopped completely.

“You are terrified,” Death commented, noting the slight tremble in Harry’s frame.

“I don’t know why,” Harry replied honestly as he stared down at the now silent infant. “I...I guess it's always terrifying when you don’t know where the road will lead you.”

“You never seemed to like taking the easy way out.”

Harry didn't feel the need to reply. 

He had fought to bring peace to the world. Loved, been loved. Grown old with his best friends and family. He had no regrets.

He could just board the damn train and move on like everybody else.

But.

Harry was a father - had been a great father - and a part of him always  _wondered_.

Wondered how the world might’ve been if Tom was loved instead of being hated. If he had family and friends. A place to return to whenever the world proved to be cold and harsh. If he wasn’t left to be alone to survive.

Would any of that have changed him? 

The infant started squirming in his arms as if disturbed by his thoughts. Harry instinctively clutched it closer to his chest, trying to calm it down with his steady presence.

“Shh…don’t cry,” he whispered, rocking it in his arms. “I’m here now.”

The infant settled down.

Harry stared down at Tom Riddle’s soul and decided to do something stupid just one more time.

"I'm too old for this," he muttered as Death laughed and led them back to the start.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know...I was drunk and ended up writing.
> 
> Story of my life tbh.
> 
> PS. comments are amazing


	2. Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Harry wants is to buy Tom cake but maybe he should've introduced himself before threatening to kidnap the boy.

 

He couldn’t have possibly known that he was alone in the world from the time he was born, but there was a strange air about the infant, a certain stillness that was reflected in his eyes as he was thrust into the arms of a stranger and his fate as an orphan was sealed with the draping of a cold body.

The boy was born on the 31st of December 1926, and on New Year’s day he was taken to an orphanage. His mother had given him a name before she passed, however, it was a name that he would come to resent when the nature of his birth would come to light. All in all, Tom Marvolo Riddle was a solitary figure with an unfortunate beginning.

The economic depression of late 1920s Britain led to poverty, violence, overcrowding, and disease, which in turn led to untimely deaths and an increase in orphans. The orphans, in turn, were subjected to overcrowding, violence, disease, and death - an endless, vicious cycle which could only be remedied by adoption into an affluent family - a pipe dream, especially if you were over a certain age. So, when nine-year-old Tom Riddle overheard his name being whispered alongside the word ‘adoption’, he followed the voices without thinking.

The door to Mrs Cole’s office was left slightly ajar and he could just make out the shape of a man sitting down in the armchair next to the fire.

The sound of the rain and wind travelled down the chimney and the firelight shifted the shadows in the room with each crackle and splutter, bathing the young man in light one second and casting him into darkness the next.

“The age difference is too small for us to even consider your request,” Mrs Cole’s voice rang out. “We have to follow the law. There is no way about it unless your father comes here in person and proves to be of a good constitution-”

“Given the state of this country, do you really believe that the government cares about such laws? Do _you_ even care?”

The man slowly stood up. Tom watched with curiosity as the man leaned forward and placed his hands on the desk, staring at Mrs Cole head on.

"I’m sure you are a smart woman,” the man continued pleasantly, voice ringing in the small room with a magnetic quality that made Tom feel light-headed and slightly nauseous. “You will make sure that these documents go through without a problem. I _will_ take Tom Riddle tonight. If anybody asks you are to tell them that his uncle was overjoyed to discover his only nephew was alive and had to take him home straight away.”

Tom’s heart started to thud loudly when he realised that Mrs Cole was under some sort of spell, merely complying with every word the man said. This man could do what Tom could do, but _better,_ and that didn’t sit well with him because it meant he was possibly a very dangerous person.

A very dangerous person who expressed interest in adopting him and was going to get away with it despite not legally being able to.

“Sorry you had to see that, but the law is useless and I wanted to treat you to cake,” said the man, turning around to face Tom’s surprised, half hidden face. 

He had the greenest eyes Tom had ever seen and sported a sheepish grin. It was a rather boyish look, but, then again, the man was but a boy, perhaps sixteen or thereabouts. 

The boy motioned for Tom to walk into the room and close the door behind him. Tom glanced at Mrs Cole and then back at the boy, silently questioning if it was alright for them to be conversing in front of her, and, as if he understood, the boy waved his hand dismissively and grabbed his coat that was draped over the chair and a luggage case by the door.

“Yeah, actually, you’re right. We should let her get on with the paperwork. Let us go get your things.”

“Who’s to say I want to leave?” Tom asked coldly, watching the stranger falter and come to a halt beside him. “I saw you control her. I don’t even know who or _what_ you are.”

The boy stared at him. His eyes shone in the semi-darkness.

“You’re right, of course,” he said lightly, almost as if he hadn’t considered how strange the situation was. He smiled suddenly. “My name is Henri Flamel, but I prefer being called Harry." 

Harry slowly extended a slim, angular hand towards him. Tom didn't really want to shake hands so hesitated before reaching out to take it. Harry's hand was warm to the touch and something subtle travelled through their contact, a touch under skin, foreign but not unpleasant.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Flamel,” Tom said slowly, wary.

Harry beamed at him and tightened his hold before letting go.

"I’m really keen to take you away from here, even if it’s only for an hour, and if you don’t like me, I’ll bring you back. Promise.”

“Well," Tom looked to the side, considered his options quickly. Did he really have a choice? "You don’t come across as a murderer.”

Harry chuckled at his reply, the sound was genuine and rather inappropriate given the situation but Tom couldn’t hate him for it. Harry stopped after a while and straightened up. 

“There is no way to tell and it’s unwise to judge on appearance only,” Harry said grimly but his eyes still twinkled. "If I weren’t so short on time, I would’ve done this introduction right and proper...” He got down on one knee and placed his hands on Tom’s shoulders in a comforting manner. “Come, let me take you out for dinner.”

Tom paused, staring into those bright green eyes, seeking out any malice, probing. 

“You also need to control that…” Harry murmured, expression thoughtful. “But you don’t even know what you’re doing, do you?”

“Don’t treat me like an idiot,” Tom snapped, feeling a mixture of anxiety, curiosity, and begrudging respect as he withdrew from Harry's blank mind. “You told me I shouldn’t trust so easily.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Harry said after a beat, voice tinged with something like interest. “Do you have a coat?”

“I do," Tom clenched his hands and swallowed down his pride as he added, "but it isn’t very good.”

“Good because I brought you one,” Harry said brightly, missing the brief look of incredulity on Tom’s face as he opened up his luggage bag. “Aha, here it is. Hope it fits.”

It was a fine coat made out of pure wool. Charcoal black, soft to the touch, and thick. The buttons were smooth like polished ivory.

New. 

Tom struggled to respond because he didn’t know how to. His pride was bruised despite him knowing that it was ridiculous for him to feel that way, but, more than that, there was an undercurrent of something else that ran deeper. A new emotion. 

“Here,” Harry unbuttoned the coat and got Tom to put his arms through the sleeves, he then unwrapped the scarf he was wearing and carefully draped it around Tom’s neck, engulfing him in warmth and the scent of clean soap.

“Come on, birthday boy," Harry smiled warmly as he took Tom's hand. "Time for cake.”

In a daze, Tom followed Harry out into the December night, realising that he was now ten years old and had a new guardian who cared about his birthday more than he did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was blown away by the response to the first chapter - thank you so much. Honestly and truly thank you to everybody who read and left a comment or kudos. 
> 
> I'm so emotional.


	3. Nicolas

 

He had a decade to plan their meeting and it still ended up being messy, but at least Tom was curious enough to give him a chance - Harry supposed that was a win.

The sun was setting by the time they entered a relatively well-known restaurant located in the town centre. A doorman took their coats as soon as they entered and a waiter led them to a secluded table towards the back upon request. Harry ordered them the specialty of the day because he didn’t want to waste any more time, but felt bad for pulling such a move because he knew that it was rude.

“I wanted the cottage pie,” Tom said testily as they sat down, eyeing the menu's that were folded up and taken away. 

Harry chose to ignore him and motioned for the waiter to lean in so he could whisper, “Could you please send out a cake with ten candles? It’s the kid’s birthday.”

“Of course, sir.” The waiter winked conspiratorially then straightened up to ask in a louder voice, “Is there anything else you’d like to order?”

“That will be all, thank you.”

When the waiter was out of earshot, Tom and Harry considered each other like they were standing at gunpoint.

“So…” Harry drummed his fingers on the table, pausing when Tom frowned at the motion. “I’d like to start over. The introduction thing, I mean.”

Tom continued to give him the silent treatment and stared at Harry’s eyes with a vacant expression. It was slightly unnerving. The kid was a potential homicidal magical purist after all.

“I’d like to know why you did it,” Tom said after a while, dropping his gaze and voice. 

“Why I did what?”

Tom glared at him again.

“You know what I mean." 

Harry started drumming his fingers again and hummed in agreement because  _yeah_ he did know.

“Okay. I guess you would question my reasons but they won’t really make sense. If it makes you feel better, just know that I’ve got no ill intentions.”

“You know,” Tom drawled, “I didn’t think you could get any worse but you’re really not good at this.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head incredulously.

“Kids these days and their attitude.”

“You’re not that much older,” Tom pointed out, looking at Harry again, this time with consideration. “How old are you exactly?”

“Old enough.”

“That’s not a real answer.”

Harry grinned despite himself.

“Curious?” 

“I’d be an idiot not to be." Tom muttered. "It’s not fair that you know all about me but I don’t know anything about you.”

At this point, their food arrived.

Harry chewed on a potato and asked, “How’s the steak?”

“Good, but you’re avoiding the question,” Tom replied shortly. He cut a piece of steak, looking every part a miniature gentleman enjoying fine dining.

"What was the question?"

"Your age."

“I’m seventeen,” Harry said after deliberation, not wanting to string this out.

Tom snorted.

“You’re not even an adult then.”

Harry expected this. Maybe he should’ve been born a few years earlier? If Tom didn’t respect him because of their small age difference then this was going to be difficult.

“I am where I come from,” Harry said firmly.

At this, Tom laid down his cutlery and gave up his act. His dark eyes focused on Harry’s features, sweeping over each detail, analytical and calculating.

“Your name was French."

“Good memory,” Harry muttered.

“You need to be twenty-one to be able to vote in France.”

Harry shrugged and said, “Not if you’re a wizard.”

His answer made Tom flinch.

“Is that why you chose me?" Tom asked after a while. Voice devoid of emotion but jaw set tensely.

"Because you're a wizard?"

"Yes. Is that what I am? Is that why you chose me? Because if it is...I'm not...I'm not like other children." Tom was shaking slightly, face pinched. "Surely you know that? I'm _special_. I'm never what people want. And if that's the only reason then I'd rather not waste time if-"

"I'm not like other people, Tom,” Harry interrupted suddenly, holding Tom's gaze. "I literally traveled back in time to meet you."

He felt a bit offended when Tom rolled his eyes and sighed heavily through his nose. He was telling the truth for once and this is the response he gets... 

“You are impossible,” Tom said harshly, but the anger was gone and was replaced by something darker and bitter.

Disappointment. 

“Come now, don’t be like that. I meant what I said,” Harry said after a minute, voice soft. "I told you that my reasons wouldn't make sense. Just...I just wanted to make sure you didn't end up alone. I'm like you, deep down."

Tom didn’t say anything in reply but Harry wasn’t sure if it was because of the large chocolate cake with ten candles that suddenly made its appearance by his side.

 

 

~

 

 

Harry was born as Henri St Martin in the year 1919 and was, by a twist of fate and powers invested by Death, adopted by the Flamel family when his parents died in a fire at the tender age of two.

The Flamel's were lovely and relatively normal, excluding the fact that they were related to Nicolas Flamel and had more money than one could imagine.

Nicolas Flamel visited his adoptive great (multiplied by six generations or so) nephew only when Henri turned five, purely out of courtesy, but then immediately took it upon himself to teach the boy the finer aspects of alchemy when he discovered Henri had magic flowing through his veins.

“My name is Harry,” Henri had said on a rainy day.

“Isn’t that the English pronunciation?” Nicolas had asked, slightly bemused but curious nonetheless. He had always found Henri to be a bit of a curiosity. Intelligent, brash, and highly private; he was unlike any other child Nicolas had come across over the centuries.

Henri fell silent at his question.

Sometimes the boy would do this. He would stare at nothing and barely breathe. Hours would pass and only the gentle press of a hand on his shoulder would shake him out of whatever reverie he was in. One could only wonder what went through his head during those moments.

So Nicolas watched and waited. Watched as profound nostalgia washed over the young boy's face.

“Yes. I like it more,” Henri had said after a while, slowly closing his eyes, lashes dark against his pale cheeks. He appeared to be in pain.

“I see.”

They didn’t exchange any more words after that, but, from then on, Nicolas had made it a point to call him Harry, if only to avoid seeing the expression of a man who had lost everything on the face of a child.

As the years went on, Harry’s focus started to drift and he’d start to ask Nicolas strange things that alluded to events that had yet to happen but eventually came to light. Devices that men made as the years went on. Wars that were about to happen. People of importance who had yet to take the stage.

However, the most impressionable conversation they had was on New Year’s Eve around ten years ago.

Nicolas remembered that night clearly. They were out late, visiting non-magicals and treating their ailments in the spirit of compassion. The snow was heavy and thick as they walked across one of Paris’ many bridges along the Seine, and when they were halfway across, Harry suddenly stopped walking to look up at the sky.

He broke out into a smile. Pure, unadulterated joy spread across his features, as he laughed out a breathless, “He’s here.”

“Who?”

Harry turned to look at him then. His green eyes were almost luminescent against the inky darkness of the winter sky, and his black locks flew about in the wind. He appeared timeless. Wild. Alive.

“The boy I’ll save.”

 

 

 

Nicolas looked up at the sound of his fireplace coming to life and watched as the flames erupted green. Two figures walked out onto the hearth, one was that of a young boy and the other was of Harry.

“You should warn me next time,” Nicolas heard the young boy say. He sounded irritated. “I feel ill.”

He was a beautiful child. Dark hair and intelligent eyes. Delicate yet strong bone structure. But his handsome face was twisted into a scowl.

“You’ll be fine,” Harry dismissed, grinning as he patted down the boy’s clothes. “Be proud. We floo’d over two hundred miles. Not many kids your age can stay on their feet after that.”

Nicolas stood up slowly and watched with interest the way Harry’s smile softened at the edges into something more genuine when the boy glared at him, watched as Harry smoothed back the boy’s hair from his face gently.

The boy hissed in disgust like a cat who mistakenly stepped into water and shook his head furiously to undo Harry's actions. Harry laughed like a maniac, doubled over when the boy started to question Harry’s maturity with a tone that old women would use to discipline children. As Harry started to straighten back up, his eyes slid across the room and widened when he noticed Nicolas’ presence.

“Nicolas? When did you get here?”

Harry’s eyes shone in the firelight - no doubt tears formed from his laughter. He strode over and hugged Nicolas firmly, exchanging greetings in rapid-fire French. He then motioned towards the boy whose dark eyes were flitting from Harry to Nicolas like a wary animal. Harry went over and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders and reverted to English, no doubt to lessen the child’s unease.

“This is Tom. He’s going to live with me from now on. Tom, this is my great-great-great-great-great-gr-”

“You can stop that now, Harry,” Nicolas cut in dryly, sighing at his theatrics.

“-Great-great uncle, Nicolas Flamel.”

The boy, Tom, bowed stiffly, face slightly pink and lips downturned in slight confusion. Perhaps he was wondering if Nicolas really was that old or if Harry was playing him. Poor thing.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr Flamel,” Tom said, discretely stepping back closer into Harry’s hold, missing the look of fondness that Harry gave him at the motion.

Nicolas raised his eyebrows in amusement.

The new year was already promising to be very interesting.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the rough transition but I didn't want this to be split into two chapters.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and leaving a kudos or comment!!


	4. Wristwatch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Tom move to England after Harry's eighteenth birthday. Nicolas bids them farewell. Letters arrive. A watch is given.

 

Towards the end of June, Harry and Nicolas had an argument about Tom’s schooling.

“We have several options, Tom, and I’d like you to consider all of them without worrying about what  _we_ may want, okay?” Harry had said, pointedly staring at Nicolas. “First of all, your situation is a bit unusual in that you are a born Brit living in France. Add Nicolas into the mix and -”

“Just go to Beauxbatons, Tom,” Nicolas interrupted. “It’s the best school in Europe by far.”

“You're biased, Nic. Just because you funded it doesn’t mean that it’s the best.”

“I met Perenelle there. Case closed.”

Harry sighed and closed his eyes in frustration. Tom found the situation hilarious. 

“Anyway…” Harry continued after taking several deep breaths. “The options are Beauxbatons, Hogwarts, or being homeschooled by yours truly.

Obviously, Hogwarts is probably going to be the easiest option seeing as the classes are taught in English, and I’m also quite happy that you’ll be outside German occupation ...but you will be really far from home and, frankly, I am stressing over that.

Beauxbatons is great. I mean, the food is amazing - stop gloating, Nic. The lessons are similar to Hogwarts but obviously they’ll be in French. You’ll be closer to home which is a plus...

Or you could stay here with me and I’ll home school you.”

Here Harry paused and stared at Tom.

“But I guess that means you wouldn’t have many friends,” he sounded distraught, Tom noted with amusement. “And maybe you'll become stunted in picking up social cues. And you might miss the chance to find your Perenelle…”

“Harry, you’re not selling anything at this rate,” Nicolas admonished with a fake glare. “Might as well tell the boy that he shouldn’t get an education.”

“I can’t help it. None of the options are good.”

Tom cleared his throat to gain the attention of the two men. It was no longer entertaining to watch him stress.

“What if I stay with you until I become fluent in French? Or maybe we could move to Britain together? Didn’t you always say that you wanted to move before Hitler invaded Poland? Besides,” Tom averted his eyes, cleared his throat again before continuing, “I don’t want to leave you here with two wars going on.”

The smile Harry shot at him did funny things to Tom. He felt an itch deep underneath his skin.

“What’s this about Poland?” Nicolas asked, nonplussed. “Wait. You’re moving? Does your father know about this, Harry?”

“He already knows I’m England bound. It was only a matter of time. I’d suggest you take cover as well. Grindelwald is on the move and he likes collecting people,” Harry said darkly. “As for Poland, Germany will take over and then England and France will declare war in three years time. It will be a very dark time in human history for wizards and muggles alike.”

Nobody questioned how he knew what was to happen. By now, Tom and Nicolas both knew that Harry was probably a seer of some sort. He was always right about these sorts of things.

“I should contact Dumbledore…” Nicolas murmured.

“Maybe,” Harry said as he pushed his chair back and stood up. “In the meantime, Tom, up you get. Let’s go to the Ministry and get our paperwork started.”

They settled down in a small coastal town a few hours away from Lancaster. A strategic move since the town was already hosting evacuee’s around Tom’s age. Nicolas’ contacts in both the French and British Ministry had helped speed the relocation process, procuring fake identities for them to use in the Muggle town and to protect their house from the unlikely event of bombings or unwanted intruders.

Nicolas had been sad to see them go and spent Harry’s eighteenth reminiscing tales of his unorthodox behaviour since childhood. He also spent a large amount of money to throw a mini-ball in Harry’s honour at his chateau along the French Riviera.

“I should’ve seen this coming,” Nicolas announced to the room at large, swallowing another mouthful of firewhiskey. “You were always looking elsewhere, my boy.”

“Now now, love,” admonished Perenelle, “You should learn to let go. Henri is an adult now.”

Harry tried to discreetly remove the alcoholic beverage to no avail, Nicolas simply grabbed hold of his hand and squeezed tightly.

“You’re like a son to me, Henri,” Nicolas said. 

“I know, Nic, and thank you, really,” Harry smiled warmly, squeezing Nic’s hand back. He felt a lump form in his throat. "You are the best father I ever had."

 

 

 

“So, we’re blood-brothers now?” Tom raised an eyebrow, reading their fictional backstory with growing amusement. He was sitting on a desk, his legs swinging leisurely. “Our parents sent us away because of the war. You have a heart condition which makes it impossible for you to be enlisted. This is all too convenient, isn’t it?”

“Technically, we are brothers,” Harry pointed out as he chewed on some toast. “I mean, I know I was the one who took you away from the orphanage - ”

“Kidnapped,” Tom interrupted.

“Semantics,” Harry waved a hand. “It was all dubiously legal, I assure you. If anybody was to look into it, my father is your legal guardian...kind of.”

"Very convincing."

Tom placed the letter down, stopped swinging his legs and folded his hands on his lap. He looked rather demure all the sudden. Harry instantly narrowed his eyes in suspicion, although his lips quirked upwards at Tom’s antics.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Do your parents even know about me or about what you’re doing? And how come I’ve never met them?”

Tom tilted his head and blinked innocently.

What a little shit.

“They know a little bit. It’s complicated,” Harry said stiffly, and then nearly rolled his eyes at himself. Complicated was an understatement. He sighed inwardly. He kind of missed his past life.

“We’ve got a lot of time,” Tom prodded him with his foot, voice curious and unrelenting. The grandfather clock chimed in the background as if in support of Tom’s statement by notifying them it was now just noon.

Stalling for some time, to think about how to go about this, because this talk was something that was bound to happen, Harry poured himself a cup of tea and handled the cup gently to warm his suddenly too cold fingers.

“My real parents died when I was toddler” he said quietly, grimly realising that he was going for the honest route. “I can’t even remember them much. I was told that I looked like my father, except for my eyes. I had my mother’s eyes. She… she died protecting me. I was then adopted into the Flamel family. That’s how I met Nic. He took me as his apprentice when I was five... I guess he brought me up.”

He ran a hand through his hair restlessly, missing the way Tom’s eyes followed his every move.

“You were an orphan too...” Tom murmured.  

“Yes.”

“You said that your mother died protecting you. What do you mean by that?”

“There was a fire and she jumped,” Harry said quickly, wincing at the parallels between his two lives. “She jumped out the window with me clutched to her chest and took the impact of the fall.”

Tom was frowning. He shifted uncomfortably on the desk.

“I shouldn’t have asked. I just…”

“It’s fine.” Harry coughed and quickly stood up to pace around the living room. “So yeah. I never really got to know my adoptive parents that well. They send me cards for my birthday. We sometimes meet for Christmas dinner. They don’t have magic, you see? They respect it though, which is why they probably thought I was better off with Nic.”

“They care about you, Harry,” Tom said after a brief silence, voice stilted, he still appeared out of his depth. “It’d be hard not to.”

Harry noted the confused and slightly disgusted expression Tom was wearing and couldn’t help but let out a breathless laugh.

“Do you-”

“-I wasn’t implying anything,” Tom added quickly, jumping off the desk and disappearing into his bedroom, leaving Harry staring at the space he had occupied.

Well. That. Okay?

For all his planning, he didn’t expect Tom to come to care about him. He just wanted - well, he just wanted to treat him kindly and hoped that Tom would learn to accept love. The reciprocity was both sobering and terrifying in ways that Harry couldn’t describe.

 

 

 

An owl and a falcon arrived a couple of months after. They appeared to dislike each other, perhaps sensing that they were scouting the same kid for their respective schools.

“Tom!” Harry yelled. “Your letters are here!”

“Letters?” Tom inquired as he rounded the corner. He was still in his flannel pajamas and his hair was unkempt. He looked adorable in this state and Harry slightly resented him for it. “What do you mean by _letters_?”

“You’re popular,” Harry grinned, simply pointing at the birds of prey as his explanation. He untied the Beauxbatons letter from the falcon’s leg and gave the Hogwarts owl a stroke before taking the letter from its beak. The birds looked up at him expectantly. “Ah! Refreshments! Wait a moment. I’ll get you both some water and bacon.”

The owl hooted gratefully and ruffled its wings as it made itself comfortable along the window sill, while the falcon flew and perched itself on the coat rake.

Harry passed on the letters to Tom.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured, ruffling Tom's head. He quickly his way to the kitchen before incurring Tom’s wrath.

He shuffled about the pantry, brewed up some tea, plated some bacon and filled a bowl of water. He had planned on taking Tom out for lunch today but the snow outside appeared rather rough. Perhaps they could floo to the Leaky Cauldron instead and get Tom to do his school supply shopping?

Tom was sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace, switching between reading the Beauxbatons and Hogwarts letters.

Harry watched him for a moment and observed how much he had grown in the past year, noting that his skinny frame had filled out to be a more healthy build. His hair used to be stringy but now it shined with a healthy glow. There was a high flush on his cheeks and his eyes were sparkling with excitement.

He looked like a normal eleven-year-old boy, excited at receiving his acceptance letters.

“Well, it’s not like I expected anything different.” Harry set the tea and the refreshments for the birds on the low table next to their couch. Tom didn’t even look up at him, still rapt in reading each coursebook list and mentally comparing the course structure between the two schools. “I told you Beauxbatons would still send you something given Nicolas is related to you. The poor falcon though. Having to fly all the way here in the snow.”

“Why don’t they teach us mathematics or science?” Tom asked, frowning at the coursebook lists. “They explain a lot of things that don't involve magic. It's quite useful.”

“There are topics that a similar...like arithmancy and erm...potions?”

To be completely honest, he and Hermione had discussed this several times in the past. 

“What about literature? Philosophy? Art? Business?” Tom pressed on, face incredulous.

“Well, it’s the magical world for a reason. Most of the wizarding society think that they are above muggles. It’s a historical thing. Kinda stupid, but hey.”

Tom's dawning realisation and slught horror that the magical community was limited to branches of magic only was priceless. 

“This is rather depressing, but I’m still going. I’ll just have to study muggle things during my breaks or something...” 

[Over the next six months, Tom devoured the local library and forced Harry to buy him books about economics, philosophy, science, mathematics, all the while muttering that if he wasn’t so set on becoming a wizard, he’d be keen to aim for Oxford, because the non-magical world held so much knowledge that the magical world was partly ignorant of.]

“Which begs the question, where will our young Tom go?”

“Hogwarts. I can’t understand half the French on the Beauxbatons letter. I don’t want to be at a disadvantage just because I don’t know the language,” Tom said, replying to both letters and attaching them to their respective birds.

“Fair enough.” Harry clapped his hands onto his thighs and rubbed them. “I was thinking of taking you out for lunch today, seeing as it’s your birthday.”

Tom looked outside and then looked back at Harry.

“Yeah, I thought so. Let’s just stay inside.”

A soft hoot caught their attention.

“Right, you’re off?” Harry stood up and unlatched the window, stepping back when snow drilled into his face. He turned to the falcon and owl and asked, “You sure?”

The birds looked at him as if to say, _we’ve been through worse, but thanks_ , and took off.

“You think they’ll be alright?” Tom asked, popping up next to him by the window.

“I hope so. Sometimes I wish they’d just send the letters by floo.”

“That’d be more efficient. Less likely to get lost.”

Oh. So that was why he seemed so concerned.

Harry laughed and shoved Tom. Tom scowled but didn’t make a move to push him back. When the two birds were no longer in sight, Harry closed and latched the window.

"Ah. Right. I need to get something from upstairs. Wait a bit."

Harry quickly ran upstairs and dug through his mess of a wardrobe to grab a velvet box and ran back down, all taking less than a minute.

“Tom?” he called out, not finding Tom by the window.

“Hmm?” Tom hummed out. He was in the bathroom, washing his hands. He looked up at Harry through the mirror above the sink. They stared at each other for a while. Tom was the first to break eye contact. He wiped his hands on a towel and walked towards Harry, nodding at the box when he spotted it, “What’s that?”

Harry didn’t answer, instead motioned for them to relocate. They walked back to the living room and settled next to each other on the couch.

“It’s your present.”Harry grinned as he handed it over, waiting with anticipation as Tom raised an eyebrow at him and slowly lifted the lid.

Tom opened his mouth slightly and seemed lost for words.

It was a watch.

A gorgeous piece that had a dark blue dial, speckled with gold, and golden hands.

“You’re welcome,” Harry prompted jokingly when Tom hadn’t said a word after the minute mark.

“Harry,” Tom breathed, eyes widening as he took in all the intricate details that gleamed in the firelight. There were the standard minutes but it also had the moon phase, planetary orbits, and a calendar. “This looks expensive.”

Harry coughed awkwardly, feeling scrutinised.

“Not really but even if it was, who cares?” He gently pried it out of the casing and unclasped the buckle to wrap it around Tom’s wrist. The watch immediately adjusted itself so that it fitted Tom’s wrist perfectly. “I’ve added some enchantments to it so that it will fit your wrist as you grow and it’s basically indestructible, unless you stab it with a Basilisk fang or something.”

“A what?”

“Nevermind. Do you like it?”

Tom laughed. He sounded slightly crazy. He leaned back and went back to staring at Harry with wide eyes.

“You. Of course I-...,” Tom blinked rapidly and cleared his throat. “...Of course I do. Thank you.”

Suddenly, a terrible yet wonderful idea struck Harry’s mind.

“Go on,” Harry said, eyes twinkling mischievously, turning his cheek. “Give me a kiss then.”

There was silence.

Harry wished he hadn’t said it or that he could see Tom’s expression, which was probably borderline murderous, but he stubbornly waited instead. When the wait became too long and the embarrassment all-encompassing, he decided to apologise.

He turned his face to do so, the words on his lips - but they died when Tom’s lips brushed against his.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha.


	5. Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shopping spree and etiquette brush up because Tom is rude. Btw, Roi = King.

 

 

It was reaching midnight and yet they were both wide awake, laying on their stomachs by the fireplace, playing their fifth round of muggle chess.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Tom shrugged. “It was an accident.”

“I seem to recall your fists of fury hinting otherwise,” Harry said, wincing from the memory. He winced again when Tom took his rook with a pawn. “Damn. Why are you so good at this?”

“Hm," Tom hummed. "Must be something to do with my brain.”

Harry scoffed but it sounded affectionate.

They fell into a comfortable silence once more, with the occasional crackle of the fire to disturb them, but, after five minutes, Harry suddenly slammed his hands on the ground, startling Tom.

“Look, I don’t care if it was accidental. It was inappropriate of me to even joke about it so I’m sorry. But it wasn’t meant to be...you know. Like that.”

“Like what?”

Harry looked conflicted and a little bit flustered.

“Like...well,” he gave a helpless shrug. “I’m your dad so...”

Tom couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re laughing? You _dare_.” Harry dragged himself closer with his elbows, pushing aside the chess board roughly, the chess pieces skittered across the wooden floor. The action made Tom snort inelegantly. “What’s so funny?”

“The thought of _you_ being my _dad_ is just hilarious.”

Tom squirmed away from Harry’s hands that were trying to grab hold of him.

“It’s not, really,” Harry huffed, managing to catch Tom’s ankle and dragging him back until they were face to face. “I’m mature and all that.”

“Sure sure, but, no offense - I can’t think of you as my father.” Their eyes met and Tom’s laughter subsided as a strange realisation overtook him. He felt slightly nauseous all the sudden.

“What’s wrong, Tom?”

“My father,” he half-lied. “I thought of him.”

“Oh,” Harry’s voice sounded strange but Tom didn’t pay it much mind at the time, he had other things to worry about.

He turned to lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling.

“I grew up disliking the idea of him,” he said slowly.

"Why?"

Tom thought for a while. He never mentioned his father to anybody before. He dreamed about him - what he was like. A faceless figure, otherwise an older version of his reflection.

“He was never there for me or for my dying mother. Perhaps he just abandoned her or maybe he died. I’m not sure. That’s why I just can’t seem to associate you with him and what that word means. You took me in even though we were strangers. He left me even though we're tied by blood.”

Harry propped his chin on his hand and stared down at Tom with understanding and curiosity. 

“What am I to you then?”

It was an innocent question but for some reason it made Tom’s throat clamp up. 

Minutes passed.

“You’re just you,” he said finally, voice quiet. “Just Harry.”

 

 

 

“Thank you, Madam.”

Tom pulled one of his charming expressions that everybody loved - everybody except Harry, of course. He always laughed instead.

“He’s going to break a lot of hearts, this one,” Madam Malkin said as she adjusted the robes with her wand, smiling good-naturedly. She had meant it as a compliment, obviously, but, instead of preening, Tom found himself glancing at Harry only to be disappointed that he wasn’t really listening. “How many would you like? The standard?”

“Seven, for both summer and winter, with differing lengths,” Harry said immediately, drawing back to himself, ripping his eyes away from the window and meeting Tom’s gaze briefly before circling the mini-stage, observing Madam Malkin’s work. He nodded to give his approval and then grinned at Tom, cheeks dimpling. “That’s your favourite number, right?”

“How did you know?”

Harry merely waggled his eyebrows and mouthed, _magic_.

If Tom wasn’t so sure of Harry’s stance on such matters, he would’ve suspected him of reading his mind.

“Seven it is. Right then, lift your arms up, dear.” Madam Malkin tapped her wand lightly against Tom’s chest and gave it a little twirl. The robe lifted itself off of Tom’s body and floated to the other side of the room where enchanted scissors and sewing tools were waiting.

Once they had paid for his robes and made their way down another cobbled street, Harry mentioned that they should check out Eeylops Owl Emporium after visiting Ollivander's for his wand.

“So that we can keep in touch,” Harry said, glancing down at Tom.

His hair was a mess and covered half his face every time there was a breeze. It was a little bit distracting. Tom wanted nothing more than to shave it all off just so he could see those eyes clearly. He almost laughed out loud at the image that thought conjured up.

“You happy with that idea?” Harry smiled, mistaking Tom’s good humour for agreement.

“Yes, well, it would be smart,” Tom said, carefully schooling his face into a serious expression as they approached Ollivander’s.

The bell chimed as they entered the dark and dusty store.

Tom followed Harry’s example and simply waited, looking around the shop with interest. Shelves were stacked with thin boxes in an orderly manner all around the room. Some of the boxes appeared very old.

“Good afternoon,” came a whisper of a voice from behind them.

Tom almost jumped. He turned around to face a rather ancient figure with silvery eyes.

The man, Ollivander, alternated his intrigued gaze from Harry to Tom for a few seconds before deciding to settle his eerie eyes on Harry’s.

“Mr Flamel... what brings you back to England?”

The question struck Tom as odd. Had they met before?

A brief expression of discomfort flitted across Harry’s features so quickly that Tom would’ve missed it if he wasn’t paying attention.

“Just taking care of my younger brother,” Harry said, placing a hand on Tom’s shoulder. It felt warm and comforting. “Tom is starting Hogwarts this year.”

Mr Ollivander focussed his attention on Tom then. His stare was unnerving and if it wasn’t for Harry’s hand on his shoulder, Tom would have taken a step back.

“Pleasure to meet you, Master Tom,” Ollivander said, bowing slightly. “May you find a wand worthy of your future endeavours.”

The selection process took a while, but Tom’s wand finally found him on the very top shelf behind Ollivander’s desk. He stood there, white wand in hand, feeling a pleasant warmth spread along his arm and into his core.

“Yew, thirteen-in-a-half inches, Phoenix feather core,” Ollivander murmured, placing the wand carefully back into its box. “Curious...very curious indeed...”

He was staring at Harry again and Harry, in turn, was coiled up with tension. Tom frowned in concern.

“Excuse me,” he said coldly, stepping directly in front of Harry to cut off their staring match. He didn’t like the man simply because he made Harry uncomfortable. “But what is-”

“How much is it, sir?” Harry placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder, cutting him off.

Mr Ollivander considered them for a moment, vacant silver eyes gleaming.

“That would be seventeen sickles and six knuts.”

The transaction was made.

“Thank you, Mr Ollivander,” Harry said, nodding his farewell.

“Farewell, Mr Flamel,” Mr Ollivander said, voice faint and amused. “Until next time.”

 

 

 

A boy bumped into Tom at Flourish and Blotts. He had dark hair and a rather good-looking face, but his eyes gleamed with something strange.

“Apologies. Didn’t see you there,” the boy said, not sounding apologetic at all. He bent down to help to pick up the few books that Tom dropped. He raised an eyebrow at one of the titles. “Oh? Fancy a bit of alchemy, do you?”

“Not really,” Tom tried to take the books back but the boy took a step closer. At the unexpected sudden lack of personal space, Tom shoved the boy reflexively, sending him sprawling into a nearby shelf full of dusty volumes. The books fell with heavy thumps. 

“Young Master!” A strange creature with bat-like ears squealed, scurrying to the fallen boy. Tom realised that it - he? - was a house elf. “Oh no! Kreacher should’ve followed closely. Master Black will be so displeased!”

A tall imposing figure who bore an uncanny resemblance to the fallen boy was making his way towards them through the small crowd that had gathered, and another man, presumably the bookstore owner, given he was wearing a tag, was shouting at people to not step on the fallen books.

Where the hell was Harry when he was needed?

“Orion, get up,” the tall man said coldly, looking at the scene before him with disgust. “What were you doing?”

“Master Black! Kreacher is so sorry!”

“Tom?” Harry appeared beside him. He was eyeing the house-elf sadly. “What happened?”

“Where were you? Ah, you know what, nevermind. I was getting the books that you wanted but then he walked into me and then he was in my face so I just pushed him -”

He stopped when he noticed that Harry wasn’t listening to him anymore. He was staring at Orion Black with the strangest expression.

“Harry?” Tom tugged at his hand, worried and a little bit annoyed.

Harry shook his head.

“Sorry. He looks like somebody I knew.”

Tom was about to ask who that person was but he was interrupted by Orion’s father.

“Apologies for my son’s misbehaviour. He indulges in causing a scene from time to time.” He extended a hand to Harry, missing the look of displeasure that passed on Orion’s face. “Arcturus Black, from The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.”

“I have reason to believe that the fault lies with both parties involved,” Harry replied as he shook Arcturus Black’s hand firmly. “Henri Flamel.”

“Indeed. Very diplomatic.” Arcturus viewed Harry and Tom with renewed interest. “Starting Hogwarts this year?” he asked, meeting Tom’s gaze.

“Yes,” Tom replied tersely. He just wanted to get out of there.

Harry coughed. Tom suspected it was to cover his laughter. 

“We’d best head out,” Harry said, bringing his hand down on Tom’s shoulder for what felt like the hundredth time today. “Please do not worry about the damages. We’ll cover them.”

The bookstore owner, who had been eavesdropping, visibly relaxed at this statement.

“Nonsense, we shall pay.”

Tom could feel Harry’s annoyance. After several minutes of polite back and forths, Harry gave up and said, “If you insist.”

They left the bookstore after holding the very dry conversation with the Blacks for another ten minutes.

“Remind me to teach you pureblood etiquette,” Harry laughed as he recalled the stilted and frankly rude responses Tom had given to both the son and father. “What’s the point of all that charm and good looks if you can’t use it against people who think they’re above you?”

“I didn’t think it was your style to manipulate people,” Tom replied dryly, trying to ignore the rush Harry’s words had given him.

“It’s not, you’re right, but he was a twat and twats can afford to be knocked down a peg or two.”

It was almost sundown when they made their way to Eeylops after having something to eat. They purchased two owls - one snowy owl and a great horned owl. 

"What will you name him?" Harry asked, nodding at the great horned owl. He had applied a lightening charm on the cages so that they wouldn't get tired.

"Roi," Tom said simply.

Harry laughed.

"Well, I'm naming my owl Hedwig." 

 

 

 

 

That night, Harry gave him a quick rundown of wizarding traditions and societal constructs. It was all very fascinating how much power one’s bloodline could give them.

“You can call yourself a Flamel if you want. Nic’s pretty famous,” Harry had said. “But fame is really overrated. Trust me. It sucks.”

“Aren’t I enrolled under Riddle?”

“Hmm…” Harry twirled his spoon around in the air as he pondered over something. “I think your name can change if you identify with it. In saying that, there’s nothing wrong with having a muggle last name. My real parents were both muggles.”

“I know that but people treat you better if you have a strong wizarding lineage.”

“Only usually the snobby ones, and let's be real, do you want to be acquainted with such tiring people? We could barely hold a conversation with the Blacks. They're the top of the crop, you know? It’s really stupid to be honest. Your name doesn’t define you. Your family doesn’t define you either. Individual achievements are acknowledged over those that were given by inheritance because those are the things that set you apart.”

“True,” Tom agreed, feeling the anxiety curb down and instead determination settled in instead. "They were rather boring. Orion Black has a strange air about him though. He looked feral..."

"Ah..." Harry looked sad for a moment. "Sometimes the mind is subject to madness."

"His father was strict with him. Too strict." Tom stabbed at a mushroom. "I wonder what house he's in."

"Who? Orion?"

"No, Santa Claus."

Harry ignored his sarcasm. "Probably Slytherin. Most Blacks and purebloods are."

"Oh." Tom felt disappointed. Did blood status affect the sorting? "What house do you think I'll be sorted into?"

"I think you'd suit either Slytherin or Ravenclaw."

"What house were you in?"

Harry looked up, confused.

"How did you know I went to Hogwarts? I never said anything."

"Nic was only happy to tell me all about you. Sometimes it feels like he told me too much."

"I...okay." Harry sighed, resigned. "I was in Ravenclaw. But I was only there for like...a year at most..."

"Oh," Tom said again. 

"What was that 'oh' for? Expected something different?"

"Obviously. You're not very book oriented."

"Rude. I read. Sometimes."

Tom grinned but his heart wasn't really in it. He fiddled with his cutlery, suddenly anxious again.

"Does it matter which house I'm sorted into?"

"No, of course not. It's just a tradition. And like all traditions, it will become outdated someday. I never saw the point in dividing everybody. It'd make more sense to group some year levels together then you'd get to live in all four domains as you move up in years - now _that_ would've been cool."

Harry sighed when he noticed that Tom was still anxious.

“Stop stressing. I don’t know if this counts, but just know that I’m supporting you all the way. Unless you decide to rule the world with evil minions of some sort.”

Tom huffed and shook his head. He relaxed a bit and he'd never admit it, but those words probably meant more to him than anything else he'd been taught the past hour. The sentimental part. Not the second half about minions.

“You are the strangest man I’ll ever meet.”

“You love me.”

“In your dreams.”

“Mean,” Harry pointed at him with his fork. “And unnecessarily so.”

Tom smiled when Harry went back to eating.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me so long to write this chapter. I just. I was like. What am I doing??? WHAT AM I DOING
> 
> Also, this fic has reached 500 kudos?!! I'm just...I'm so emotional. Thank you all so much? Never thought that this fic would receive so much support ;A: <3


	6. King's Cross and Little Hangleton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom hops on the Hogwarts Express. Harry visits Little Hangleton.

 

“Don’t you think it’s silly how we have to travel all the way down to London to take a train that leads to somewhere in Scotland?” Tom asked as he appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “And what about the children already living in Scotland or Wales? It just doesn’t make sense to me.”

Harry’s lips quirked upwards. He stirred the pot once he finished adding the final ingredients and raised the heat to high. The spoon was spelled to keep stirring while Harry moved on to washing the dishes. He liked to do the dishes by hand.

“There are alternative methods but none beat taking the train. It’s very scenic.”

“How long is the ride?” Tom asked as he sidled next to him, rolling up his sleeves and taking a clean plate from Harry’s hand, drying it with a tea towel.

“Hmm...several hours. I can’t remember.”

Harry grinned when Tom groaned and mumbled something about taking a trunk full of books to read. And, no - he really should try and push Tom towards socialising, be a good adult figure and all that. Yes.

“You’ll have to make friends at some point,” Harry tried. “School life is a lot easier with them.”

“But nobody is interesting enough,” Tom pointed out, looking on the verge of pouting.

“How could you possibly know that already?”

At that, Tom raised an eyebrow at him as if asking, _really?_

Undeterred, Harry plodded on, “I’ll have you know that even the most unassuming wallflower of a person has their own secrets and are worthy of respect. Of course, sometimes there are people you just don’t click with but that’s beside the point.”

“Harry,” Tom sighed, “I’m sorry to disappoint you but I don’t _click_ with people in general.”

The frank way with which he said it made Harry double up with laughter. Tom was such a riot.

Oh _Merlin._ He was going to miss him wasn’t he? How funny.

“I just don’t want you to be lonely,” Harry said, lips twitching at the irony.

Tom stilled beside him for a second.

“I have you, don’t I?”

Harry clutched at his chest in mock feeling and made a wounded noise.

“Stop that. Your shirt is getting wet.”

In response, Harry placed his wet soapy hands on Tom’s shoulders, which, as expected, did not go down very well.

“In all seriousness,” Harry later gasped, holding out a hand as a sign of truce, stopping Tom from summoning rain from the sky. “I hope you meet good people. People you can trust. Make good friends. Being alone never does anybody good.”

They were both wet from head to toe but luckily had the sense to take their vendetta outside. Hopefully none of their neighbours were spying on them, not that they would be able to really see what was going on over the fence but they might be confused about the clouds that were gathered over the one house and the shouts of alarm whenever water was doused.

He quickly cast a drying spell on them both and waved his hand to blow away the clouds.

“I can’t do what you find so easy,” Tom said, matter-of-factly, voice quiet. “People aren’t easy to trust. They don’t trust me either.”

It wasn’t hard to understand the meaning behind Tom’s words, after all, Harry had been through something very similar, but unlike Tom, he had always been able to trust.

He walked over to Tom and leaned down to be on even eye-level.  

“You’re right. Each person is complex. They have needs and wants and circumstances that may affect their judgement, but, at the end of the day, they are only human, just like you. As humans, we recognise that, which is why we try to make relationships work.”

“It seems like an awful lot of work."

“Yes, it is,” Harry said, amused by Tom’s frown. “It takes effort and courage to love and be loved, because it’s a fundamental part of human nature to be flawed and make mistakes. Trusting somebody takes a leap of faith and sometimes they let you fall, but you’ll recover and you’ll know what people aren’t worth your time.”

“Are you calling me a coward?” Tom asked, quirking an eyebrow. “I’ll have you know that I’m not scared of people. I just don't want to interact with them.”

“Well,” Harry muttered quietly. “They can make your life better if you let them in."

Tom stared at him. He looked concerned.

“What about you, Harry? You don’t have anybody here.”

The words stung even though Tom hadn’t meant for them to hurt.

“I have you, don’t I?” Harry asked after a pause too long, jokingly. He stood up to his full height and stretched, snapping his bones into place. “I better go check on the food.”

“Wait.”

Tom cut in front of him, blocking Harry from the back door. His head was lowered so that Harry couldn’t see his expression.

“I’ll do it, make friends or whatever, but that means you have to as well.” Tom raised his head and glared at Harry with intensity, took a step closer as he hissed and jabbed a finger into his chest, “ _Promise_ me.”

It seemed as though the world fell silent at Tom’s outburst.

“Be careful with your words or else I’ll start to think that you actually care,” Harry said, and although his tone was aloof, his face must’ve given away his emotions because Tom’s shoulders relaxed and his lips curled upwards.

“Promise me,” Tom murmured as he turned away and went back inside.

“What? No denial?” Harry called out, following Tom inside. “You’re getting soft, _Thomas_.”

“Shut up, _Henri._ ”

 

 

 

 

People stared at them strangely as they headed on down to platform 9¾, especially since Roi wouldn’t stop flapping around in his cage.

“Okay, so I want you to run into the barrier calmly as soon as people start boarding the next train.”

“I hate running. Can’t we just walk?”

Harry scoffed.

“You’re such an old man.”

“No, I’m just dignified.”

They slid through the barrier with very little fanfare, much to Harry’s disappointment. Perhaps he should have solidified the barrier? It was probably irrational but he wanted Tom to be shaken up for once.

“This...” Tom breathed.

Harry turned to look at Tom’s expression of silent awe and smiled at how wide his eyes were. 

“Come on then, let’s get your luggage out of the way.”

They weaved through several families to get to the luggage carrier.

“You can take Roi with you.”

“Could you charm him to be lighter?”

Harry touched the cage and handed it back to Tom. His heart lurched for some reason when Tom smiled down at Roi, a small, private smile that he rarely saw. And it struck him. Tom looked happy. He looked like a boy who lacked nothing. Anybody could look at him and tell that he had somebody who cared for him.

“Okay. You’re all set to go,” Harry said, clearing his throat, blinking rapidly. “You know the plan.”

“Make friends, don’t get detention,” Tom replied, voice deadpan. He finally looked up from Roi's cage and his eyes widened. “What are you...You said you wouldn’t cry.”

“It’s because of the pollution. London’s awful.”

Tom let down the cage gently and walked right into Harry’s space, tugging him into a hug.

“Okay, now you’re awful,” Harry gritted out.

Tom snorted.

“Seriously. You can’t pull this sort of thing out of nowhere. Where’s the consistency?”

“Perhaps we should make this a thing?” Tom asked as he pressed his face into Harry’s stomach.

“I’ve been trying if you couldn’t tell.”

Tom murmured something in reply but it was too low and the sudden flurry of motion from all the students making their way into the carriages made it impossible to hear his words.

Harry patted Tom’s head and let his fingers play with his hair for a few seconds before he reeled himself in and gently pushed Tom away.

“Time for you to go,” he said softly.

Tom nodded and Harry squeezed his shoulders before letting him go.

“Don’t do something stupid while I’m away,” Tom said as he picked up Roi’s cage.

“Can’t promise that.”

They walked along the train until they found an empty compartment. Tom quickly rushed up the steps and into the compartment before anybody else could claim it, then lowered the window so that they could shout at each other.

“Write to me often, okay?” Harry yelled.

“Work on your handwriting then.”

Harry laughed and nodded his head. Yes, well, Tom made a fair point.

A good looking blonde-haired boy and a dark-skinned boy who had beautiful deep-set eyes popped their heads in and asked Tom something, probably if they could sit together. Harry proudly noted that Tom acquiesced and made room for them. The boys looked like a nice bunch. They made short introductions between each other before they caught sight of Harry.

“Hello,” the blonde-haired boy said, voice friendly, waving. “Nice to meet you, Mr Flamel. My name is Jacob Goldstein.”

“Benedict Shacklebolt,” the other boy said with a short nod.

Ah. Interesting. A Goldstein and a Shacklebolt.

“Nice to meet you, Jacob and Benedict. Please, call me Harry.”

The whistle blared as the train started to move.

“You boys have fun! Don’t go into the Forbidden Forest!” Harry yelled, walking alongside the train, dodging tearful parents. 

"Promise me you won’t go to Germany!” Tom retorted, eyes glinting. “Don’t even pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about!”

“Can’t hear you, sorry!” Harry lied, blocking his ears.

Tom’s amused expression was the last thing he saw before the train picked up speed and went into the tunnel.

 

 

 

 

Little Hangleton was a small town with a modest economy based on agriculture and automobile manufacturing, largely in part due to the Riddle’s.

The head of the Riddle house, Charles Riddle, built his motor company when he was only twenty years old and straight out of college, having the insight to invest in engineering feats, riding the technological boom of the late 1800s. His wife, Helena Riddle, was a beautiful woman who had absolutely no talent in the kitchen and thus spent most of her time creating art. Their son, Thomas Riddle, did not share Charles’ love of automobiles or Helena’s artistic flair, rather, he was more in touch with his family’s roots, having a knack for agriculture - which turned out to be an investment when the depression put a strain on natural resources but made dinner party conversations dull.

The villagers often wondered why they hadn’t moved to London or even to America, being as rich as they were, but as they hadn’t and since the villager’s lives were boring, the Riddle’s were often the main topic of gossip. It was usually harmless and completely false, but, one day, the news that Thomas Riddle had taken fancy to Merope Gaunt, the daughter of the deranged and penniless Marvolo Gaunt, started to spread. Charles didn’t listen to the nonsense at first, thinking it to be baseless, but then it became apparent that there was truth behind the rumours.

Nothing could be said be or done to stop his son from visiting the wretched woman every evening. It was like he was under a spell. After trying and failing to get his point across, Charles gave up and reassured himself that the infatuation was a temporary thing and that Thomas would come to his senses eventually. He would later come to regret not having done anything more drastic.

One morning, rumours began to spread through the village that Thomas had eloped with Merope. It was such a scandal that the townsfolk went crazy with the gossip - it wasn’t every day that they could bask in the Riddle’s misfortune.

But as the days stretched into months and police reports lead to nothing, the townsfolk toned down their gossip and instead started to whisper in concern. Helena cried for all those nights, kept awake by the memories of their son, whereas Charles kept a level head and organised for even further investigation, offering a hefty reward if their son was returned safely.

Then, almost a year later, just before Christmas, Thomas returned. Mentally unstable and emaciated, but alive and functioning. The police had found him wandering around London with no shoes on. When he was taken back to the police station for questioning, an officer recognised him from the missing report that they took down a month prior.

“Father,” Thomas had said, voice hoarse. His dark eyes looked haunted. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to go...she...did something to my mind.”

That night, Mr and Mrs Riddle were told a story so horrific that they silently vowed to do everything in their power to protect their son.

The next few months were difficult.

As a consequence of the trauma, Thomas devoted his life to business and avoided as much social contact as possible. He rarely visited the village and he never rode close to the Gaunt shack.

Women still vied for his attention since he was the most eligible bachelor around (if one were to turn a blind eye to the kidnapping business), but Thomas had no desire to entertain them. His parents thought that it was a temporary thing, but the years crept on past and Thomas reached his mid-thirties, the prospect of him living in solitude started to worry them.

“It’s not that we want grandchildren, Thomas,” Charles said, half-lying. “We just want you to have a family of your own. Women aren’t all like that witch.”

“Even though I know your words are true, I simply cannot,” Thomas replied gently. He couldn’t explain how he had no capacity for love and that even his attachment to his parents often felt diluted and artificial. He must’ve appeared upset because his mother tutted and drew him into her arms.

“We are happy as long as we have you,” Helena whispered. “And you don’t need anybody else if you are happy as you are.”

That night, Thomas lay awake for several hours afterwards, thinking of all the normal things in life that he would not be able to have because he was too afraid. The suffocating loneliness and fear made him so exhausted that he slowly nodded off to sleep.

Perhaps some higher power had heard his cries and mistook them for prayers, because, a few nights later, an innocent looking letter was delivered to his bedroom window by a snowy owl. When he finished reading its contents, Thomas couldn’t help but think that his life was full of irony. He burned the letter, as instructed, and waited for the morning to come.

As soon as the sun started to rise, Thomas quickly slipped outside and waited for the person’s arrival by the large oak in their back acre. He almost bit his tongue when a figure appeared before him at the bottom of the gentle slope.

“Hello,” the green-eyed man said, loping towards him with ease, hands in his pockets, smiling. “Nice to meet you, Mr Riddle.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there,
> 
> Thank you to all who have loved this story and left such lovely comments.
> 
> I'm really sorry to say that it has been discontinued.
> 
> Thank you and I hope you all find happiness in some way or form.
> 
> Love,


	7. Bullet points

Hi there,

People have been asking for an update for the past 7 months despite the discontinuation - and I was beyond flattered/stressed  so I made a bullet list of things that were planned to happen if I had the will to continue.

Hopefully this will sate your curiosity. 

It was kinda hard tbh to write because 1. this fic happened one drunken night with no plot in mind...and it kept going, and 2. so yeah I kinda made it up as I went.

 

Plot points:

  * Tom was going to be reunited with his father on his 16th birthday. In canon, Tom kills the Riddle's on his 16th summer. Thought it'd be nice to do the reunion then. Oh, and they'd get along, partly due to Harry's efforts over the years. Tom visits the Riddle's regularly because they accept him as family- nawww.  
  * Harry has to sort out the Gaunts before they piss off Tom. Gets the resurrection stone in the process.
  * Harry was to go to Germany and quietly destroy Grindelwald's plans of domination. Gets the Elder Wand.
  * Harry was to have several private conversations with Dumbledore. Gets the invisibility cloak.
  * So he still ends up with the three hallows in this alternate timeline
  * Jacob Goldstein and Benedict Shacklebolt would become solid friends with Tom. They'd become inseparable, glorious Ravenclaw nerds.
  * They also tend to be the ones who bend the school rules without being caught. A couple of shenanigans happen. 
  * Tom would later get a job at the Ministry - something gloriously nerdy, possibly even science related because he wants to advance the wizarding world in the areas that they're lacking in
  * Nic finds out Harry's secret
  * Harry was to die in his mid-forties, pre-planned, because he really deserves a break and reckoned Tom would be okay at that age without him. Death welcomes him. There's nothing at the train station this time. Harry goes his way in peace. 
  * Tom leads a normal life until the very end. It'd be nice if he'd take interest in helping powerless people but I doubt that he would have despite not being a sociopath this time round.



 

Those were my scant ideas. Nothing was set in stone, but yeah, some ideas I had.

 

Thank you for enjoying the fic. I'm sorry for discontinuing it.

 

Hope you all have a great year ahead!

 


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